


Rainbow Days  (also known as “The Time Kurt Forgot To Bring Sunscreen, and Blaine REALLY Had To Pee.”)

by whatagoodboy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatagoodboy/pseuds/whatagoodboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine go to their first Gay Pride. Pretty simple, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbow Days  (also known as “The Time Kurt Forgot To Bring Sunscreen, and Blaine REALLY Had To Pee.”)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: very quick mention of suicide. 
> 
> Seeing all of the speculation about Kurt going to NYC this year made me misty and nostalgic for New York. This story is the result…

”Blaine. Blaine…wake up.” Kurt whispered, poking a finger gently into his boyfriend’s side. He’d woken up with a start-remembering that today was “the day”. Pride Day. Not only was it the first one he’d ever attend, it was also going to be the first time he’d be going to something he actually knew how to navigate the subway to get to.

 _Take the F-Train to West 4th. Get on the front cars of the train so we can get out right on 6th, by Duane Reade. There’s a Starbucks right there…coffee, bathroom, perfect,_  Kurt thought to himself, proudly.

Blaine rolled over and mumbled. “Mrgghrph?”

Kurt smiled.

“Mrrrrrghrph? Nope. Wake up. It’s Priiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide Daaaaaaaay”, he trilled.

“We need to get ready—if we want you…I mean, us, to be able to see the floats and stuff, we should get there early. Rachel told me that people crowd up into police barriers and I don’t know about you—but I want to see some cute, half-naked, boys as close up as possible”, Kurt blathered, hoping he’d covered up his misstep in poking at Blaine’s height. 

Blaine sat up, and rubbed his eyes. “I’m short. We need to leave early because I’m a tiny Hobbit-Man, is that what you’re implying?”

 _Oooops. Guess he was more awake than I assumed_.

Slightly panicked, Kurt protested. “No…I…I just want…”

He trailed off once he saw the amused gleam in Blaine’s amber eyes.

“Don’t toy with me like that, I’m fragile early in the morning, Blaine Edward Anderson”, Kurt huffed.

Blaine grinned, reaching over and pulling Kurt in for a quick peck on the lips.

“One, fragile? You? Not ever. Two, it’s such great fun to toy with you—and three? I’m sorry I broke the “no morning breath” kiss rule. You just look so rumply and adorable.”

Rumply and adorable. Not certain that rumply was a look he’d ever go for on purpose—Kurt laughed anyway, it was Pride Day, Blaine—his Blaine, was actually there with him to share in the whole experience.

Kurt reached over the lump of his newly-conscious boyfriend, and grabbed for his cell phone on the nightstand. 

Checking the time, he announced, “Okay, it’s 8:45. We should leave in no later than an hour.”

Blaine groaned. “Kurt? Didn’t you say the parade didn’t start until noon? We’re not in Alabama—how long should it take to take the train into the City, a half an hour, forty-five minutes?”

Kurt clucked disapprovingly.

“Blaine.”, he admonished, “Brooklyn trains run weird on the weekends, we need to get a good spot, we have outfits to plan—showers to take. Let’s eke out as much gay fun goodness as we can out of today! Sleeping is for the weak! You can sleep when you’re dead and all of that…”

Blaine’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

“Who said I wanted to go back to sleep? There are a great many fun things we could do right now in this bed that would not involve sleep in any way.” he suggested.

Kurt’s heart beat a little faster at that-a pulsing throb in his crotch reminding him that his morning erection was present and waiting for him to either pee, or pee AND engage in hazy, soft, lazy, Sunday shenanigans.

With a quiet groan, he resigned himself to just the peeing.

“Blaine…later. We have three whole days for naked times. Now? We have to go forth and be gay!” Kurt said, pushing blankets aside and standing up.

Blaine laughed. “Naked times? Is that the new thing we’re calling it? Plus, naked times between the two of us are pretty much the definition of the word “gay”, Kurt.”

Kurt grabbed a pillow, and whacked his point-having boyfriend in the head gently.

“Semantics, Blaine. I’m getting into the shower. DO. NOT. FOLLOW. ME.” he commanded as he started down the hall.

Closing the bathroom door behind himself, Kurt heard Blaine shout,

“You are the very least interesting boy in all of New York City, Kurt Hummel!”

Cracking the wooden door open slightly, Kurt retorted, “That’s why they invented masturbation, Blaine Anderson!”

_______________________________________________________

After a truly ridiculous amount of wardrobe discussion, cute outfit assemblage, (“What do we even wear to a Pride Parade, Kurt? Am I over-dressed? Are you under-dressed…not that I’m complaining.”) camera charging, and a brief makeout session in the kitchen, the two of them were finally on their way.

Smith St. bustled with families out for Sunday strolls, too-perfect-to-be-real hipster couples preening and posing on street corners, and numerous older residents taking in the tableau from orange-brown stoops.

Kurt's Carroll Gardens neighbourhood seemed to be pulling out all of the stops this morning—its normally relaxed, liberal, vibe ratcheted up a notch with Rainbow Flags on strollers, “Happy Pride” notes scrawled on triangular menu boards in front of cafés, and a goodly number of young men and women sporting very little clothing—and healthy doses of sparkles.

Kurt and Blaine fairly skipped down the concrete steps down into the ‘F’ train station. At the bottom of the stairs, Blaine stopped—patting his back pocket.

“Kurt? I didn’t bring my wallet. Can I use your Metro Card?” he asked.

“Blaine? You brought your phone, a camera, a plastic bag filled with smushed Goldfish crackers…but not your wallet? Nope. You have to stay here then. The crackers will keep you nourished until I return this evening. Just wait in the corner—and don’t talk to any strangers.” Kurt giggled.

Reaching over, and pulling Blaine to him (because I can…oh, my God, I can!) Kurt pressed a kiss into Blaine’s curls. “Of course you can use my card. Jeez, Blaine. What are you, from Ohio or something?”.

Blaine blushed, grinning from ear to ear. 

“A guy from Ohio who just got a kiss from his boyfriend, in public, on Pride Day, yeah.” he muttered happily.

Kurt smiled back. “C’mon Ohio, we got a train to catch.”

During their train ride, Kurt took turns checking out the crowd in their car, and watching Blaine stare out the window at the whizzing grey-black of the subway tunnels flying by,his knee bouncing in excitement

As each upcoming station stop was announced, Kurt watched Blaine raise his eyes toward the subway map, silently counting the number of stops they had left before they reached their destination. 

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

As the train lurched while leaving the last stop before theirs, Blaine reached down and squeezed Kurt’s knee. 

“We’re almost there.” he whispered.

Kurt covered Blaine’s hand with his—letting it rest there. 

“Yep, we are, love.” he whispered back.

The boys both squinted as they West Fourth Street station at Kurt’s designated spot. Bright sun, and loud chatter, slightly overwhelming them as they stepped onto Sixth Avenue.

Just like Rachel had mentioned, metal police barricades lined the street. They had arrived early enough that, although the sidewalks were crowded and loud—not many folks had seemed to have settled in to their chosen viewing spots.

Noisy men pulling grocery carts walked up and down at the edge of the road on both sides—hawking Rainbow balloons, Pride Flags, mardi-gras style rainbow beads, and well, just about any sort of rainbow tchotchke Kurt could imagine, really.

“Flags! Two fer Ten Balloons, three fer Twenny!" one particularly boisterous hawker yelled.

Blaine kept himself firmly pressed up against a concrete wall of the Pharmacy they were in front of—his compact body looking smaller somehow than usual. Kurt noticed Blaine’s hesitance to make his way into the din, and slid over towards him offering a reassuring hand.

“C’mon, you. Let’s get some coffee, yeah? Then we can pick a nice spot and settle in?” Kurt asked.

Blaine relaxed a bit at Kurt’s touch, and Kurt knew that his boyfriend was going to need some of his newly-found “New Yorker” coping skills today.

Proudly, Kurt called them up to the best of his ability, and vowed to make this the best day he could for the both of them. “Okay, once we get in, there’s gonna be a line. Remember, in New York, you’re not standing IN a line, you stand ON it.” he admonished as he guided them through a set of glass doors.

___________________________________________

One thing Kurt had not counted on as he’d made plans for the day was that the parade started at Noon. Really. Really. Far uptown. As crowds had arrived, and began to take space for themselves along the route, Kurt realised that it would probably be at least an hour and a half before the marchers reached where he and Blaine were currently camped out.

He checked his phone for the time, aiming for suave and unnoticable, but failing miserably when Blaine piped in,

“Kurt, you keep checking your phone for the time. I’m pretty sure we’re where we need to be so…what’s up?”

Kurt scrunched his face, and bit his lip. “Um. So. It may be a goodly while before we actually see any sort of parade action.” he explained.

After letting Blaine in on his little “Ooooops” secret, Blaine surprised him by looking around at the area near them.

“Can we just sit here then? We can tell each other all of the stories we’ve been saving up. We’ve got shade, buckets of iced coffee…C’mon” Patting the rough stone of the curb, Blaine took off his dress shirt, and laid it on the sidewalk like a beach towel.

Kurt’s eyes filled with tears. He didn’t mean them to, but, in that sea of people, Blaine had carved out a space just for the two of them. It made him itch to hold Blaine—just put his arms around him, and never, ever, let go.

So, they sat. And held each other, talking quietly. At some point, they began to make friends with an elderly couple nearby who had taken quite a shine to the two handsome boys huddled together. Louis and Lousia, they were called. 

They’d been coming to Pride for thirty five years without fail. Louis, leaning on a metal walker, and Louisa, face weathered and crinkled explained just why they had.

“Our boy, Tommy—he was gay before people understood things the way they do now. He tried to tell us once, we tried to listen, but it was the 70’s you know—we were ignorant and blind. We thought that it was such a bad thing—that he’d just be miserable. Turns out—he was miserable, but not because of who he was; it was because we turned our backs on him. He died. Killed himself.”

Kurt and Blaine held each other more tightly.

Louisa showed them the sign she was holding. “FOR OUR TOMMY WITH PRIDE AND ENDLESS LOVE. WE STAND FOR YOU AND WE WILL NEVER FORGET TO ACCEPT AGAIN” it said.

“May I take your picture?” Kurt asked.

“Only if we can take one of the two of you in return.” Louisa replied.

And so, they did. Kurt and Blaine beaming brightly—entwined and so young. Louisa and Louis smiling with experience, age, wisdom, love, and loss.

__________________________________________________

Kurt’s estimation turned out to be almost exactly accurate. An hour and a half of waiting time, and 6th Avenue exploded with activity. Dykes on Bikes roared by—a huge, glorious herd of women astride motorcycles-representing all shapes, sizes, and ages—waving flags and waving wildly at the crowd.

Kurt and Blaine whooped and cheered. Blaine whistled through his teeth—his face almost purple with the effort.

Floats representing just about any interest or affiliation imaginable passed by. Some had people on them wearing pretty much nothing at all. Kurt took shy delight in doing a little bit of blatant ogling. Blaine snapped pictures like a mad man—getting in quite a few of his boyfriend gaping in semi-shocked wonder at the palette of naked flesh, and sinewy, shiny muscle on display like a moving buffet.

Other floats had themes-one which hit the boys hard was the one for the Trevor Project. Both of them had heard about the organization, and Kurt, on one very, very, lonely night—had called the toll-free number from the quiet of his bedroom closet years before.

Kurt had never told anyone he was gay before that night. A young man named Michael, over a crackled, static-y, phone line-became the first person he’d ever voiced his sexuality aloud to.  Michael had listened, and understood.

Blaine asked him once, if he’d given the number to David Karovsky. Kurt hadn’t. Both of them wondered if maybe Dave would have had an easier time if he had done.

Music, pulsing, and ear-splitting broke their quiet reverie as the Trevor float went further down the road. “I Will Survive” blared out of numerous speakers—and with flaring joy, Kurt and Blaine shout-sang the lyrics along with everyone nearby and danced. 

They had both survived, and as their shaded spot gave way to a sun-filled one—they raised their faces to the sky and celebrated.

“This goes on for a while, huh?” Blaine noted, after almost two hours had passed.

Kurt, leaned on Blaine’s back—trying to shield himself from the sun, nodded mutely—his face smushed up against the slightly sweaty t-shirt in front of him.

“Kurt? How could YOU forget sunscreen? I’ll get more tan, you’re just going to burst into flames or something…” Blaine said.

Kurt dragged his head to Blaine’s shoulder. “I know.” he said miserably. ”There sure are a hell of a lot of gay people—I didn’t bank on being outside for this long.” he added.

A buzzing sensation came from Kurt’s back pocket. He pulled out his phone, swiped his finger across the screen, and checked his incoming text message.

**“Happy Pride, Son! Have alot of fun ok!”**

Kurt rolled his eyes affectionately, and noted that his Dad had still not mastered the idea that “alot” was not a word. “It’s from my Dad.” he explained, holding his phone out for Blaine to see.

“Awwwwwww, your Dad is the best!” Blaine exclaimed.

“Speaking of Dads…” Kurt began, pointing at the large group coming into view. “PFLAG”.

“Parents And Friends Of Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, Transgender, Queer, And Questioning Youth” proclaimed a huge banner held aloft proudly by a group of chattering men and women. 

Hundreds of people marched behind the banner, some pushing strollers, some holding accepting placards and signs—and some blowing bubbles into the crowd.

Louis and Louisa clomped and cheered loudly.

Glancing at Blaine, Kurt had a sudden inspiration. “Come on! Let’s walk with them! If my Dad were here, he totally would! C’mon, let’s do it for my Dad! And for Louisa and Louis, and…”

“And, for my parents who aren’t quite there yet,” Blaine finished, grabbing Kurt’s hand.

After blowing Louis and his wife quick, “goodbye” kisses, Blaine and Kurt stretched themselves up as tall as they could to get over the barriers and into the street—Kurt hefted Blaine the rest of the way over.

Once the boys reached the street, they clasped hands and soaked in the view. Thousands of people looked so different from their new vantage point. Cheers erupted along the route as they made their way toward the parade turning point. Mothers, fathers, old, young, black, white—-every colour of the human rainbow spurring them on—accepting, loving, including.

Kurt was sure it was one of the best afternoons of his life.

Blaine beamed for blocks—his curls slowly working free from the hold his gel had held. Kurt’s feet began to scream in agony, and he silently noted that, _Next year? Comfortable and less fashionable might be the way to go._

As the parade petered out on Greenwich St., Kurt handed his camera to a smiling woman, and asked her if she’d take a photo for him.

“Sure, sweetie! No problem. I’m Gloria, and you are?” she asked.

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel. I just moved here a few weeks ago—this is my boyfriend….” he started.

“Kurt, OH MY GOD I HAVE TO PEE!” Blaine shouted, unaware that Kurt had stopped and was currently talking to a stranger at the side of the road.

His face turned beet red as he saw the woman’s surprised and highly-amused expression.

“Hello, OH MY GOD I HAVE TO PEE! I’m Gloria” she said, “Come over here and get in this photo with your adorable boyfriend, will ya?”

Blaine complied, gratefully, kissing the tip of Kurt’s very sunburned nose before striking a pose.

“Happy Pride, Kurt” he said. “I love you.”

“Happy Pride, Blaine” Kurt responded. “I love you more.”

_____________________________________

That photo of them would become one of their all-time favourites. In years to come, it would sit on a number of mantelpieces, grace a number of walls—but it followed them as they made a life together—proud and bound together in love.


End file.
